“Not a whole lot, honestly. Probably not any more than what you’ve read about him. Mob boss. Took over the Adorite Crime Family, a.k.a. the Southern Boy Mafia, when his father, Samuel, was murdered.”
“Murdered? By whom?”
“No one seems to know.”
“Not even Madison?”
Brantley saw the shock on Reese’s face when he mentioned the name.
“If she does, she never said.” His gaze swung to the window. “She never really said much of anything about her family.”
That surprised Brantley. For whatever reason, he’d conjured up this loving, open relationship between Reese and Madison. One that involved dinners with the family, date nights, flowers, and breakfasts in bed, a lot of laughing and smiling.
Yeah, so his imagination had likely superimposed a bunch of flowery bullshit, but it didn’t change the fact that Reese had asked the woman to marry him.
“I read somewhere that he owns a club?” Brantley said, wanting to keep Reese talking.
“Devil’s Playground. Several locations across the country. Hot spot for the young and hip.”
“You go there often?”
Reese chuckled. “I haven’t been young and hip for a damn long time.”
Brantley knew Reese wasn’t referring to his age. Being that he was thirty-one, Reese would fall into the young category. However, it was the storm clouds in his eyes that told the story of how he’d come to live too hard, too fast. One day, Brantley hoped to learn what had happened that put those clouds there.
“This club … it a front for his businesses?”
“I’m not a forensic accountant, but I figure it’s a safe bet he launders money through. Certainly a perfect cash-producing setup.”
“What else is he into?”
“Guns and drugs mostly,” Reese answered easily. “He’s got some legit stuff goin’ on, too. He’s acquired more since he married Courtney Kogan.”
Brantley still had a hard time wrapping his head around that one. The head of a criminal organization marrying the daughter of a private security firm that worked diligently to remain on the right side of the law. He’d been even more surprised when Hunter and Trace had spoken somewhat affectionately for their brother-in-law. Granted, he didn’t think they were best buds with the man, but still.
Brantley considered all he’d just learned, then turned to Reese once more. “You think Travis called Max yet?”
“If not, then he’s on the phone with the guy right now.”
Yeah. He figured that, too.
And strangely, Brantley wasn’t as bothered by it as he probably should’ve been.
Chapter Twenty-One
“You okay?”
Travis looked up, saw Gage standing in the doorway to his home office. “Yeah. Why?”
Gage’s response was a quirk of his eyebrow.
“I’m good,” he assured the man. “I promised I would sit on the information Brantley gave us.”
“You did say that, yes.” Gage didn’t look convinced. “Doesn’t mean you have.”
Travis considered what he wanted to tell his husband. Since Gage used to be a police officer, having gone the route of undercover for a long time, he knew the man leaned more on the right side of the law. He believed in the justice system.
Travis, on the other hand, believed in taking care of your own shit. Probably had something to do with growing up in a small town. They tended to deal with their own issues, settle things between them without involving the law. Growing up, when someone wronged another, it was settled with fists, not phone calls. They didn’t call the police in to deal with their problems. Sure, the sheriff’s department had always had their own agenda, sticking their nose in where it didn’t necessarily belong, but that didn’t mean they were invited.
Gage strolled around and took a seat on the couch directly across from Travis’s desk. He propped his ankle on his knee and regarded Travis carefully.
Travis could see the curiosity in Gage’s eyes, knew he wasn’t going to leave until Travis started talking.
“Did you call him?”
Travis considered playing dumb, pretending he didn’t know who Gage was referring to. However, they were making strides in repairing their relationship, and the last thing he wanted was to cause a setback.
“Not yet.” Travis held Gage’s stare. “I was about to.”
“What’s stoppin’ you?”
“I wanted to talk to you first.”
And that was the God’s honest truth. From the moment Brantley had informed them that they had an actual location—albeit seventy-two hours old—on Juliet Prince, he’d been itching to call Max. He knew the Mafia boss would deal with the problem, make it go away once and for all without Travis ever having to get his hands dirty.
The only thing that had stopped him was the fact Gage deserved a say in what happened to the woman. After all, Kylie was Gage’s wife, too. Maybe not in the eyes of the law, no, but he was where it counted.
“Talk to me about what?”
“He can take care of her,” Travis said. “All I have to do is say the word.”
“I’m sure he will. But what’ll you be in for? We both know Adorites don’t do favors for free.”
No, they certainly did not. And though Travis had asked for a few favors from Max over the years, he’d only been called on once to return it. That particular incident had required Travis to manipulate a situation, maneuvering a person to a certain spot by using his resort as the carrot.
He had no idea what’d happened after that, nor did he care to. What Max did was his business. Whether it was legal or not was also his business.
“If it ever came down to it, can the feds tie you to him?” Gage asked.
“As an acquaintance, maybe,” Travis admitted. “But it’d be circumstantial at best.”
Gage seemed to consider that before he said, “And what is it you’re askin’ him for this time?”
Travis opted for honesty. “I want him to make her disappear. Permanently.”
Gage nodded, as though processing that information.
Travis wasn’t sure what he’d expected, but it wasn’t for Gage to slowly get to his feet and head for the door.
But what shocked him the most was when Gage turned back around and said, “Then I suggest you don’t let the task force find her. It’d be best if no one ever lays eyes on her again.” He started to pull the door shut. “I’ll just close this so you can make that call.”
When Gage left the room, Travis stared after him for a few minutes, letting his instructions sink in.
Travis should probably have worried that he didn’t have a crisis of conscience when it came to ordering a hit on Juliet Prince. And that was what it was, no matter how he wanted to pretty it up and call it a favor. He was asking one human being to eliminate another.
The question he had was who would he rather do it? Did he call Max and finalize his request, or did he take matters into his own hands? No, he’d never killed anyone, nor had he actually considered it before.
Had he played a part in having some really nasty people taken care of? Yeah. When his cousin Wolfe’s wife, Amy, had been running from a sadistic fuck who’d used his position of power to abuse and beat her, to kill her family and imprison her, Travis had called Max. And he’d never lost a moment of sleep for it.